Saving Satan
by Right or Ryn
Summary: It may have seemed like weakness, like giving up, but in reality it was the strongest thing she ever did. So don't judge her. No, never judge her, because without forgiveness there is no future, and only with time do we discover the truth. THr, what else?
1. You Can't Outrun Time

**AN:** Sorry, there was a hiccup in the first posting. It should be all better now.

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**Saving Satan  
**A story of forgiveness and redemption.

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"An apology for the Devil: It must be remembered that we have heard only one side of the case. God has written all the books" ---_Samuel Butler _Note Books_

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**Chapter One:** You Can't Outrun Time

"You loathsome… sadistic… piles of slime!" Hermione wheezed, hunching over at the waist and tightening the grip her hands had on her thighs with every word spoken. "... That's it… last straw... I've had enough… I'm quitting!"

"Hermione," he gasped, clutching his chest. "That one hurt." He stabbed at his upper body again for emphasis as his voice filled with emotion, "It hurt right here."

"Man up Weasley," Fred said in his mock-soldier voice, which was a surprisingly good imitation of an aggravated Moody. He shook his head in reproof and turned to berate the brown-haired witch who was currently shooting daggers at him. "You're quitting? Despicable. Never thought I'd see the day," he shook his head slowly. "How very out of character for you, duckling. What's next? …cursing?" he taunted, face stern. His twin however, was making no effort to hide his amusement and it took all of Hermione's restraint not to pull out her wand and hex him on the spot.

"I'm rather disappointed in you Hermione."

_Oh that does it!_

"Out of character for me? Disappointed in _me_?" she scoffed in an incredulous tone. "Well how very IN character for you," she used her hands to practically push her body back into its normal, upright position, "making fun of me while I'm down. Go ahead and laugh it up you sodding, antagonistic arseholes, I'm done this and I'm done with you." With that last angry remark, she turned around and stalked the other way for the perfect dramatic exit.

Or it would have been had she not stubbed her toe on a rock and barely caught herself before falling. Nobody cared though; Hermione was too livid and the twins were struck dumb.

The Twins stared after her, slack jawed, "Did she just…?" George whispered.

"Yeah. She did. I mean, I never thought she would…" Fred replied equally as soft, staring after her retreating figure in wonder.

Ron and Harry turned around to see what all the commotion was about. "What's going on with Hermione now?" Ron asked, casually wiping the sweat off of his brow, used to Hermione's outbursts around this time of the month.

Fred looked half traumatized, half ecstatic, and wholly unbelieving. "Hermione just… she just… she cursed, mate!"

Ron's eyes widened. "Oh shit. Not good."

They, and they being Harry, Hermione and every last Weasley under the age of twenty, had made up their minds at the beginning of the summer that when the war came they would be in shape, whether that be mentally, physically, or magically. Ron and Hermione had had to repeatedly, and occasionally violently, knock some sense into Harry before he got it in his head that they wouldn't let him carry the weight of the Wizarding world on his shoulders alone, and while there were a few relapses, he eventually accepted that there was no way, no how his friends were going to leave him all by his lonesome on his quest to destroy the Dark Lord.

On the contrary, it took barely any wheedling at all to convince Moody to set such a strict training regimen for his 'newest recruits' that would make any seasoned Auror cringe. In fact, judging from the twisted sort of pleasure he seemed to receive whenever he rounded them up like cattle to played his favorite game of 'Dodge the Curse' – which was quite often – he absolutely loved having them around. They, somehow, didn't share the same enthusiasm that he had for the pastime. An utterly unimaginative name for such a despicably dangerous activity, 'Dodge the Curse' was like some kind of demented form of Muggle dodge ball in which Mad Eye sat like a king on his throne(a lawn chair) and cackled with glee as he fired curse after curse at the frantic Gryffindor teenagers.

Occasionally – if he was feeling particularly generous – Moody would allow some other Order members in on the fun. Shacklebolt found the game almost as amusing as Moody, and together they unleashed a hellish arsenal of curses of both the magical and muggle persuasion. During the game they could attack back if they wanted, but more often than not it was all they could do to defend themselves; _Protego_ certainly didn't work on everything, as was proved by the numerous interesting scars and bruises that the group had collected. Once, Ron had been heard complaining that Moody didn't need to use actual curses, that he could just use colored beams of light "or something"; Moody had grabbed him roughly by the collar- the old codger was a lot stronger than he looked – and proceeded to lecture him (that's putting it lightly) for nearly half an hour with the Twins looking on in fascination as their brother was called things from a 'yellow-bellied chickenshit' to a 'whiny little pussy'.

Nobody complained after that.

…At least not within his hearing.

The mental and magical part of the training came effortlessly to Hermione, and she graciously helped out the others, teaching and giving pointers wherever and whenever she saw fit. The physical part on the other hand… that was another story entirely. Hermione Granger was never and would never be the type of girl that was interested in sports, preferring instead to spend any and all of her free hours cooped up at the nearest library. Just ask Mr. Granger, who'd on many occasions attempted to interest his only child in the cult of FIFA, but she would have none of it. From the time she could read her first sentence out loud she insisted that the mind was the most valuable tool at humanity's disposal, and with it nearly every other became obsolete.

She had never once doubted it either.

Until now.

That being said, she could, in good conscience, accuse Fred and George of being ruthless taskmasters when it came to the physical side of things. After being shown up by a girl – and a younger on at that – one too many times, both boys reveled in the fact that they were far superior in this aspect of training. They never got tired of the odd comment here or the playful jibe there reminding her of the fact - but Hermione sure did. Of course, it also helped that Hermione had the type of personality that did not take well with failure. The Twins weren't necessarily cruel; they just took good natured teasing among friends to its highest level.

Perhaps a level or two too high.

That had been almost two months ago, and though they'd ended most of Moody's crash course tutorials in "how _not_ to get your ass blasted backwards and shoved down your throat" in favor of researching and destroying Horcruxes, the morning Fun Runs were still mandatory. Unfortunately.

Harry and Ron exchanged reproving glances with the Twins. Looking only slightly repentant, the identical siblings shrugged their shoulders simultaneously when Harry curtly motioned for them to continue on with their run and leave them with Hermione. If anybody, they alone would be able to deal with Hermoine's unique brand of temper.

"Hermione wait!" Harry called as he and Ron jogged to catch up with her. For someone who was supposedly exhausted she was still capable of storming off in righteous indignation extremely well.

"Look, we're almost at the end of the course, and you know you need to do this. Come on, I know it's hard, but it's only just a little ways further," Harry coaxed and consoled sympathetically, touching her hesitantly on the shoulder. She scowled at him but didn't say anything. That may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that she was having trouble breathing at the moment. Talking in coherent sentences was beyond her current capabilities.

Ron tried a different direction. "'Mione when we get home you can try out those new hexes you read about on Fred and George all you want," he bribed in a sing-song voice, and immediately noticed Hermione perk up slightly at the idea.

Somewhat reluctantly, she gave in, turned around, and began her dreadfully slow jog once more, grumbling all the while at how illogical it was for boys who just parked their rear ends on flying sticks all day to be in such great shape.

Ron and Harry ran by her side for a short time to make sure she didn't stop, but before long they couldn't help but pick up their pace, and Hermione once again took her usual position at the back of the pack. Despite the short rest, her legs were entirely numb and shaking uncontrollably; it felt like someone was stabbing her side with thousands of tiny knives. The just-big-enough-for-working-out-but-not-too-big t-shirt she had borrowed from Ginny was completely drenched in sweat and her running shorts were only partially covering the perspiration collected on her thighs and calves. She was also entirely positive her face was the familiar, unattractive beet red color it seemed to take on whenever she did any sort of physical activity for over ten minutes. On top of all that, she'd managed to develop a Tonks-like grace; meaning, of course, that she was clumsy as hell. Hermione stumbled and lurched around, barely catching herself multiple times before what would be a painful collision with the ground.

"Stupid Weasleys and their stupid shortcuts," she muttered before her voice rose to adapt a mockery of George's earlier pleading tones, "Oh Hermione, please let us! Running along the streets is _so_ boring. Cross country is much more interesting. What's not to love? I mean, there are all the hills and the rocks and the leaves and the bugs and the holes and the all around pain in my bum outdoorsy feeling of it all. It's all so bloody wonderful!" she grouched bitterly, breathing heavily between every other word.

As she stumbled once again, barely catching herself before she performed what promised to be a spectacular face plant, Hermione resolved to keep her eyes planted firmly on her trainers and the ground in front of her. She discovered as she jogged along that if she concentrated on all the different ways she was going to wreak an unholy vengeance upon the twins, the anguish she was currently experiencing became more or less tolerable. Occasionally, she'd look up to catch a glimpse of Ron's long and gangly freckled limbs or Harry's gray t-shirt and unkempt black hair, just to reassure herself she was going in the right direction. Hermione knew they could have easily left her completely in the dust, but they didn't, and she felt thankful to know that they purposefully stayed far enough behind for her to keep them in sight.

With her eyes once again on her feet, she tracked each agonizing step she took, counting- one two, one two three, one two, one two three- over and over and over again as she went. If she concentrated on that mantra, her brain didn't think as much about the fact that her heart was about to burst out of her chest like something from the movie Alien, or the fact that she felt as if someone had a wicked vice grip on her lungs, squeezing the heck out of them whenever he or she- most likely he- jolly well felt like it. As much as she was absorbed in the movement of her trainers, she didn't look up to see the boys each successfully bend over at the waist to avoid a low-hanging limb. All she heard was Harry's encouraging call of "We're almost out Hermione, keep it up!"

Feeling a sort of perverse giddiness, she began muttering darkly, "One more step closer to home and beating those twins until they're black and blue. By the time I'm done with them they won't be identical anymor- OOF!"

Hermione, if she was any shorter, may have avoided the tree branch entirely. Unfortunately, she was just tall enough that she collided with it precisely at her hairline.

What happened next might have been described as comical if it hadn't looked oh so very painful. Hermione's movements were as wild and exaggerated as a character out of a cartoon. Immediately after she was clothes-lined, her head jerked back harshly like she had suffered whiplash. Gravity seemed to suspend momentarily as she hovered in midair just long enough to provide a moment of realization and agonizing anticipation before crashing to the ground, all of her weight landing excruciatingly on her tailbone.

"Ow," she whimpered pathetically, her elbows digging into the ground. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, _OW_." She gradually leaned onto her back and closed her eyes against the pain. _'Well, at least you aren't running anymore_, she thought sardonically.

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When Hermione opened her eyes a second, a minute, an hour later and blinked rapidly to accustom herself to the sudden light, she peered heavenwards only to spot the very tree limb that was the cause of her raging headache. It seemed to be staring right back at her, quivering with impious amusement as it dropped one of its taunting leaves directly on her face. Frowning, Hermione swiped it off, but when her hand connected with her head she winced as the pain increased ten-fold. 

She grimaced. _This isn't good_.

Knowing what she would find but nevertheless hoping otherwise, she brushed at her forehead with tentative fingers and came in contact with a warm, sticky substance. Slowly she pulled her fingers back down to eye level and frowned accusingly, vaguely acknowledging the dark red liquid staining her dirty hand as blood. She wiped at her sweat-stained shirt with jagged, annoyed movements. '_Uh, gross_.'

With much effort, she pushed herself to her feet only to feel overcome with dizziness and partially black-out from standing up so suddenly. With shaking hands she went to steady herself and fell, clinging, ironically, on a certain tree limb, taking special care to keep her head from colliding with it this time.

Hermione she took a several deep shuddering breaths and when she felt capable of standing on her own two feet, she set off again. She managed to stumble forwards a few more steps, blood continuously trickling down the side of her face. Her head was pounding yet numb, an altogether strange and unfamiliar sensation, and her ears were ringing. _I wonder if I have a concussion. I've always wondered what those felt like. Guess now I know. It's not as interesting as I thought it was going to be. Where are the hallucinations? _She frowned thoughtfully as she rubbed her right armabsently.

A rustling noise in front and slightly to the left of her seated position immediately caught her attention and she saw a glimpse of gray amongst the trees. A tall, lithe figure with dark black hair maneuvered himself (she knew because anyone that tall _had_ to be a he) through the woods familiarly. Harry! Thank Merlin!

She opened her mouth to call out to him when a jarring pain shot up her left leg. Her calf muscles tightened, contracting unbearably, and a short scream of pain escaped her before she could clip it off. Her eyes widened and she caught Harry's head turn to her before he looked away dismissively and continued on his way. Oh no he _didn't_!

"Get over here and help me right _now_ you sorry excuse for a Wizard! – Oh Mary _mother_ of GOD! – Before I curse the magic right out of you, Dark Lord be damned!" she yelled threateningly between interchangeable gasps and screams of pain.

Within the blink of an eye Harry materialized before her, crouching down on the ground in one fluid motion. She would have smiled smugly at the power she had over him (serves him right for ignoring her!) if she wasn't focusing so hard on keeping herself from crying. She hated crying, but Merlin it hurt!

She scrunched up her eyes and squeezed her hands into fist so tight her knuckles were white and her nails cut into her palms leaving half-moon imprints. Whoever said pain was relative never spoke a truer statement; she couldn't even feel her head right now. And ringing? What ringing?

"What's wrong?" he asked tersely, hesitating to touch her.

"What do you think's wrong? Dear God, how blind _are_ you?" she replied through clenched teeth. _Maybe he really did need new glasses_, but she left that thought unsaid. Though she was strong-willed, strong-minded, and stubborn as hell, pain wasn't something that she would ever get accustomed to. It didn't suit her at all. Hermione wasn't like Harry. It hurt her beyond words to even think about how he withstood the Cruciatus – multiple times – but for Hermione to deal with pain stoically wasn't really an option.

He didn't answer her, nor did he help her. She threw her head back and produced a dog-like whimper once more as a second wave of pain hit her harder than the first, if that was even possible. "... cramp... left leg..."

Immediately she felt his strong hands grasp her ankle and press her toes back towards her head. It still hurt, but she could feel the pain slowly but surely receding. When it was over she unclenched her hands, surprised her nails hadn't broken the skin, and wiped at the sweat on her forehead. Her hand came away with blood and she rolled her eyes at herself for forgetting. _You must have hit your head harder than you thought, Hermione. And you are __**never**__ running with those obnoxious, insensitive, imbecilic prats ever again. Oh why oh why did Ginny have to leave to go shopping today of all days?_

She pushed herself up from laying flat on her back to her elbows to give Harry a piece of her mind. If she was honest with herself she knew it should be the twins she was yelling at, but she needed to fuss at someone, and as unfair as it was after he helped her, Harry was the only one there. And besides, nobody ever said that life was fair.

"And I thought we were friends! I can't believe you were walking away from me Harry James Pot-" she looked up, "-you're not Harry."

She stared into eyes that were _not_ bedecked with spectacles and were _not_ 'emerald green as a speckled toad', but instead were, if possible, colder and darker than Professor Snape's eyes. Though he smiled at her, it wasn't genuine; she could tell. Overall, cold definitely classified as a description for the teenager no matter what sort of congenial front he was putting on. Cold as ice. "Excellent observation," he laughed good-naturedly. She was startled for a few moments before realizing what he was talking about. _Wow he's a good actor. Creepy really. _

Ignoring her morals that were screaming '_This is wrong, this is wrong!',_ Hermione thought _Legilimens_ in her mind strongly and _pushed_. She told herself that she'd just look long enough to see who he was and read any ill intentions he might have towards her and that was all. Hermione knew that she was out of it though, and her already shoddy Legilimency was even worse than it should have been; she only hoped that he wouldn't be able to detect her presence. She caught flashes of a green snake-that could be bad-, a bunch of little children in uniforms, and a boiling cauldron before she noticed his eyes first widen then narrow.

That was all the warning she got.

If Hermione had been standing up, she surely would have been knocked to the ground with the force he used to expel her from his mind. Still, her right arm flared up something fierce. Great. Just great. She already felt that her head was about to split at the seams, and now this.

Apparently this boy who was decidedly not Harry knew Occulmency, and fairly well at that. It wasn't something that was commonly known, so obviously she knew all about it. After she had talked with Harry and discovered Occulmency and Legilimency she had become increasingly paranoid of looking anyone she didn't know or trust to a certain degree in the eye. She had been furious with herself for weeks for overlooking this branch of magic – her, a self-proclaimed know-it-all. Of course, she immediately began to learn everything she could on both subjects, particularly Occulmency, but though it pained her to say it, there was only so much one could learn from books.

She had never seen this man in her life, and fate had screwed her over enough as it was without her doing something stupid like blatantly tempting it by looking at this stranger directly in the eye, especially not in her current condition. Instead of taking this time to observe him, she wiggled backwards noticeably to distract from the fact her hand was sidling towards her wand that was in the invisible holsters Harry had bought for them – without asking so they wouldn't object – and insisted they all wear. It was incredibly expensive, and even still they all protested at first, but going without a wand these days was not an option, and going jogging attire didn't leave a lot of places to conceal a ten inch piece of wood; thus, the holster. Which was, of course, locked.

"Um… hi. Who are you exactly?" she asked awkwardly, as if the Legilimens incident never happened. Her hand was almost there, a few more inches and she'd undo the lock. Unfortunately, his now calculating eyes were attracted to this movement and before he had a chance to put two and two together, she quickly moved her hand to grasp at a stray rock as if that was her plan all along.

"Who are _you_ and how did you know that I am a Wizard?" he asked accusingly, looming over her cruelly, menacingly, not even bothering to put up the obviously false congenial air now. It was all a valiant effort really. A very nice try. This guy may have passed Intimidation 101, and if she was anybody else it might have even worked, but he had nothing on Voldemort.

She had to curb her tongue to keep from saying '_Lucky guess_,', and it took more will power than she would have suspected. It could have been the concussion, but it was most likely due to all the time she'd spent in close quarters with the twins; they were rubbing off on her.

What a frightening thought.

"Well, seeing as I obviously thought you were someone else, I couldn't have known you were a Wizard. I mean, I know now because you admitted it and everything but-" she rambled, noticing his eyes narrow irately for a split second before she channeled Ginny's acting abilities, enlarged her eyes to their widest capacity, and screamed.

"GODDAMMIT you great big oaf, get off my leg!"

Hermione used the three seconds it took for the black-haired teenager in his shock to look from her face to her leg and back to extract her suddenly visible wand. By the time he turned around again it was pointed right between his eyes.

She stood with only a slight wince and a hiss, backing away slowly. "Sorry Stranger, but we're at war. Can't afford to take any chances nowadays. You understand."

_Did I really just say that? _She nearly laughed at how corny she sounded, but felt a ridiculous smug sort of pride swell up when she caught his expression. Draco Malfoy had worn the exact same expression after she punched him in third year; he'd underestimated her as well. Thinking of Malfoy her hand tightened involuntarily around her wand.

Feeling more confident, she surveyed the man as he slowly rose from his crouch (Merlin he was tall), and ignored him as he did the same to her. His hands were stretched out in front of him in a gesture of supplication. Unfortunately the expression on his face was anything but beseeching; it was impassive. Completely and totally without emotion. He was wearing a slightly worn gray tunic-like shirt and dark, neatly pressed trousers. Definitely Muggle-wear. If he hadn't of responded as he did when she called him a Wizard there would be no way to tell he wasn't just a regular, run of the mill teenager. It was not something one would expect to find in the woods or on a bigoted Death Eater, but who knew?

Even after she had finished her inspection, more of a cursory glance really, she could feel his eyes on her. While he wasn't staring at her lewdly, he was definitely giving her the up down. He wasn't making any effort to hide it either. Hermione blushed. She knew she looked a right mess. And if her shorts were a little short, or if her hair was a little wild, it was to be expected- she had just run three miles!

Feeling uncomfortable, she placed her left hand on her right shoulder, careful not to roll up her short-sleeve tee. "What are you doing here?" she spoke up clearly, keeping her gaze fixed on his nose. It was a proud, aristocratic nose with the slightest hint of a blemish above the left nostril. She couldn't stop staring at it, on his pale face with its clear complexion, it was out of place.

"Walking," he answered, smirking when he noticed she wouldn't look him in the eyes. Or maybe it was because it took a second for her to realize what he was saying. Most likely it was both.

_Okay, so he's an irritable smart arse._

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, I can't leave unless I know you're not who I think you are and are going to curse me as soon as I turn my back, or worse yet go and report you saw me to your Dark Lord and Master. So let's get this over with: roll up your sleeves."

"What?"

Hermione exhaled loudly. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm sorry. Just do it, okay? I've had a rough day and all I want to do is go home."

With a skeptical glance that Hermione missed he slowly rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. "Satisfied?"

When she saw for sure that he was clean she nodded, lowering her wand slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Tom," he stated bluntly, eyeing her as she ground her teeth. Hermione was a smart girl; she wasn't about to ask the obvious 'Tom what?'.

She sighed inwardly, deciding to let it go. She was so tired even her innate curiosity had abandoned her. Moody would scold or more likely than not, lecture her to death when he found out, but all she wanted now was a hot bath, clean clothes, and to never _ever_ hear the words 'Fun Run' again in her entire life. If the guy wanted to be difficult then too bad.

"Can you at least tell me if you've seen four boys? One with black hair and three with red, all about this high?" she asked, standing on her tip toes and lifted her hand as far as it would go in the air- just over the dark eyed boy's head. "They're a loud, obnoxious lot; you couldn't miss'em."

When he shook his head she muttered to herself, "Of course you haven't. After the day I've been having it would be a miracle if you did. Murphy has it in for me."

He raised his brow.

"Murphy's law. Anything that can go wrong, will, and at the worst possible time too," she waved her free hand in the air. "-It's a Muggle thing," she explained absently, a habit she'd picked up after being around the Weasleys for so long.

As she was trying to decide what to do a migraine rapidly formed. Whether it was from the stress, the knock on the head, exhaustion –most likely dehydration – from the run, or all three, she needed to go home and take some Aspirin.

'_No, not aspirin. You're in the Wizarding World, remember? Good God girl, get a hold of yourself.' _

Apparently her injury was worse than she thought. So what if this guy was looking at her with a glare cold enough to freeze boiling water, she couldn't very well curse him for being a bastard to her- she didn't know him well enough yet.

With her mind made up, she prepared herself to apparate to the Burrow. Molly Weasley would fix her up when she saw the state she was in. Right now she wanted- no, _needed-_ to be coddled and fussed over; she hurt! And besides, one word mentioned to Mrs. Weasley about how everything was all Fred and George's fault and her revenge would be taken care of. If there was one person on earth the Weasley children feared more than Voldemort, it was their Mother. Two birds. One stone. It was a _great_ plan.

"Look, I'm really sorry about holding you up at wand-point, especially after you helped me out and all. And there's not much I can say besides thank you and goodbye. …So… thank you and goodbye."

She pictured the Weasley's living room in her mind –smiling faces, worn furniture, and all- and whispered the password, 'family' under her breath. Even if the boy did hear her it wasn't likely he'd know where she was apparating to. Moody would have insisted that she apparate to a secure location and then apparate to the Weasley's, but right now, as she'd said earlier, Moody be damned.

She felt the familiar suction tube-like pull of apparation, and then it all went wrong.

Her body felt as if it was being ripped in half, pulled in all different directions. She had no idea what was going on and on top of her head the rest of her body felt ripped up as well, particularly her lower back. _Pain is relative_, she repeated in her mind for the umpteenth time that day. A pathetic leg cramp had nothing on what she was currently feeling. Hermione lifted her wand weakly in an attempt to cast another spell, any spell, and nothing happened. Nothing had never happened to her when she lifted her wand since the summer before First Year.

Not good. Not good. _Not _good.

Okay, _now_ she was panicking

Realization hit her right before she lost consciousness. When she reached that cruel state of enlightenment all she had time to do was to think "Shit" before she was out like a light.

Hermione Jane Granger, top of her class all six years she had attended Hogwarts, brightest mind of her age, member of the Order of the Phoenix, best friend to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and all around Witch extraordinaire, had splinched herself.

Damn.

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**Okay, this story has been a long, long time in the making – we're talking months here. It takes a special something to hold my attention for that length of time, and this is it. I've been enamored by this concept- forgiveness, redemption, love overcoming (certain) obstacles- for ages. Everything started with this quote by Mark Twain: _**"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?"**_ and spiraled from there. 

How this applies to canon will be slightly confusing, everything is basically AU after the Half-Blood Prince, but I will be using information from Dumbledore's past from DH as well. When we get there, just tell me if it gets too confusing and I'll try and explain if there's a problem.

Hopefully this will be the longest Author's Note I'll have to write for this story.

Feedback is sincerely, sincerely appreciated. One might even go so far as to say rewarded even…

I'll leave you to think about that.

-Ryn


	2. In Which Our Heroine Wakes

**AN: **I've got some comments so far about Hermione being a little OOC, and right now I tend to agree. I'm sorry about that, but I've already written the next couple of chapters. So here's your official warning. I hope it's not so bad that it completely distracts you from the story.

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**Saving Satan**  
A story of forgiveness and redemption

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_"If you are pained by external things, it is not they that disturb you, but your own judgment of them. And it is in your power to wipe out that judgment now."_ ---Marcus Aurelius

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**Chapter Two: In Which Our Heroine Wakes **

Hermione woke up to bright light. There was white everywhere but even in her half-lucid state she knew she wasn't in Heaven. No, definitely not Heaven. The way the light blinded her and attacked her eyes, this had to be Hell. That lasted two seconds until she realized she was lying in a rather uncomfortable bed and a thread-bare white sheet was pulled up to her shoulders. She moved her head on her pillow, blinking and glancing from side to side. Immediately, her brain kicked in and she started taking in her surroundings.

She had on a hospital gown and couldn't see her clothes anywhere. _Ginny is going to kill me; that was her favorite Quidditch shirt._ She flexed her hands, clenching and unclenching the bed spread. She was in a hospital that was for sure. _First things first, is it Muggle or Wizarding?_

With another cursory glance she noticed the absence of electronic devices. No TV, no VCR, no outlets, there weren't even any light bulbs. She felt safe to assume that she was in a Wizarding Hospital, most likely St. Mungo's.

Hermione grasped the right corner of the cotton sheet with her left hand, tossed it over to the side, and moved to get out of bed only to discover that she couldn't. She tried to move her knees, telling her brain more and more frantically what she wanted it to do. She couldn't feel her legs. She couldn't feel her legs!

_OH DEAR GOD, I'M PARALYZED! _

She screamed.

"I'm paralyzed! I'm paralyzed! Oh sweet Circe, I'm paralyzed!" she cried, thrashing around hysterically.

Abruptly two burly nurses on what appeared to be steroids and a Healer clothed in white burst through the door with their wands held high in front of them. Her arm flared to life and she grasped around madly for her own wand. Dear God, where was it? The way they approached was eerily similar to the way orderlies went after crazy patients with sedatives in insane asylums. What if this wasn't a hospital? What if she was in an insane asylum?

She stopped thrashing and uselessly attempted to get away from them by pushing herself farther back on the bed with her hands. The discomfort in her arm receded, but it was still there.

"What are you doing? Where am I? What's going on? _Why can't I feel my legs_?" she asked desperately, staring pointedly at the outstretched wands until their owners lowered them.

" You splinched yourself dear," the only Healer who looked like he had not taken steroids responded like this little tidbit of information was supposed to be of comfort to her.

It wasn't.

When he noticed her panicked expression only increased he continued, "We had to put you on a numbing potion while we reattached your legs. You've been out for awhile."

Hermione nodded slowly. That made sense. And she wasn't paralyzed. That was good. But _reattach _her _legs_? It seemed a little extreme.

"What's your name dear? You didn't have any identification on you so we didn't know who to floo." Hermione jerked her head around to spot a woman she hadn't seen before. The woman was brown-haired, brown-eyed, fairly normal and nondescript but Hermione felt a compulsive need to trust her- to confide in her, which naturally meant she couldn't trust her at all.

"Hermione Granger. My name's Hermione Granger," she said firmly.

_Okay, here it comes_. She wasn't Harry Potter famous, but thanks to Rita Skeeter she was pretty well known- and not in a good way. However, the signs of recognition never crossed any of their faces. When they determined that she wasn't going to go mental, the other three Healers left the brown-haired one alone to question her. No wonder, she seemed to exude this air that said 'trust me'; she was the hospital interrogator.

"I'm Healer Flint, but you can just call me Jenny. Hermione, can you tell me what you were doing apparating without a license?"

"What?" Hermione frowned, propping herself up on the bed, "I have a license. I'm seventeen."

"Okay, then. Our mistake," she smiled quickly. "Just tell me all that you remember. Can you do that for me sweetheart?"

_Don't judge Hermione. Don't judge. _She told herself fiercely. _For all you know that's just how she operates. She might not have meant to be condescending. _

"Well, I was running with my friends," _It's probably_ _best not to mention that one of them is The-Boy-Who-Lived, _"and I was looking down at my feet. I didn't see a low-hanging branch and it hit my head," she touched her forehead and noticed the pain was gone. It took a moment for her remember why. Figures, she was in a hospital. Of course they would have healed it. "I think I was knocked out because when I woke up they were gone."

Healer Jenny nodded encouragingly, urging Hermione to go on.

She took a depth breath. "I figured I'd had a concussion and decided to walk home when I got a really bad calf cramp and then I saw-" she stopped. "when it was over I decided to just apparate to my friend's house. That was the last I remember. Obviously I didn't make it."

"I thought you said you were going home?" Jenny asked, jumping all over the discrepancies in her story.

"It's like a second-home. I'm Muggleborn so I stay with my friends from school a lot over summer." The Healer looked confused bordering on skeptical. Hermione noticed.

"What?"

"Well, judging by your appearance and estimated age we presumed that you were a Hogwarts student. One of the other Healers was treating one of the teachers, Professor Wood. She asked him to come in and look to see if he recognized you; he didn't."

Hermione felt like someone had cast a befuddlement charm on her. Wood? Oliver Wood? _No, I may not have talked to him often, but he'd be sure to recognize me. Couldn't be him. Wood is a pureblood name, it might have been a relative. But that doesn't make any sense. _What was going on? Maybe this was a hallucination, an after-effect of the concussion. Who wouldn't recognize her? She knew all of the Professors at Hogwarts; she'd taken every single class available to students. She'd even taken Divination from that crackpot, no-good excuse for a teacher Professor Trelawny. Why wouldn't- oh! That's right. He, or she, was most likely the new Defense Professor, or maybe even the Transfiguration Professor. She wasn't going back to school this year so McGonagall wouldn't find it necessary to introduce her to the new teachers.

She spoke earnestly. "I'm not going to Hogwarts my final year, and besides, I think we got two new teachers anyway. Was it Professor Slughorn? Or maybe-"

"Okay dear, calm down. I believe you," Healer Flint laughed indulgently.

Hermione blushed. Sure she got a little carried away, and maybe she forgot to take a breath, but that didn't mean Jenny had the right to be patronizing, and she definitely was, Hermione finally concluded. If there was one thing that got on Hermione's nerves it was patronizing adults who patted her on the head like she was a cute, but silly little girl. Jenny probably wasn't trying to be purposely insulting, but the unconscious patronization sometimes spoke more about the person than if it was done purposefully.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, she wasn't sure what, when the door opened. Another Healer poked her head through the door and motioned curtly for Jenny. She excused herself politely and left, leaving Hermione alone.

_Poor Harry and Ron, they probably have no idea where I am- oh Merlin! What if they think Voldemort and his Death Eaters have me?_

The truth and plausibility of the comment Hermione and gnawed away at her relentlessly. If it was true it would be a very bad thing, and it was probably exactly what they thought. Just last week Death Eaters had attacked her home, burning it to the ground and summoning a Dark Mark above the ruins. Thankfully her Mum and Dad had been at her Grandmother's in Sussex and not at home. But she had thought they were at home, and it had been the longest two hours of her life. When she discovered they were alive she went to McGonagall and demanded that they go into hiding with her as their secret keeper. Of course Harry would assume that they had finally found her, and with the blood on the ground from where she hit her head, he would assume the worst. They must be worried sick!

Now that she wasn't completely frantic, she looked around for her wand. Unless she had damage done to her magical core or she was a legal fugitive they wouldn't take her wand. It was taboo, and the Wizarding World hated taboo.

Her hand fumbled around on the wooden desk to her left, locating it easily. That was a testimonial to the state she was in earlier if she couldn't locate her wand when it was right beside her. When it was back in her hand she felt an unease she hadn't realize she'd possessed until then melt away.

She glared at her legs and set her jaw. She didn't know what kind of numbing potion they had used on her, but it was more than likely one of the common ones.

"_Episky_," she murmured after trying three other spells. Gradually she felt a tingling up and down her legs. _Thank you Tonks, _she smiled as she wiggled her big toe. Throwing back her covers once again, she slung her legs over the side of cot-like bed and tested her weight on each foot before standing. So far, so good.

Hermione was dreadfully aware she was only garbed in a hospital gown when she stood up. She considered looking for her clothes but decided Harry and the rest of the Order didn't need to wait a moment longer than necessary to know she was okay. It was strange that nobody checked the Hospital, but not unbelievable. They most likely assumed that she was taken and didn't want to waste any time in rescuing her when she could be being tortured or murdered at that very moment. Hermione knew how Harry thought, and after Sirius and Dumbledore he wouldn't waste a second with something as trivial as sleep until he knew she was safe again. She had to get to Headquarters.

She tiptoed to the door with her wand drawn at her side. The door was windowless and she was apprehensive about opening it because she couldn't see who or what was out in the hall. So she didn't stand out within seconds of going out the door, she applied a quick transfiguration turning her hospital gown into a standard set of black Wizarding robes. It was a slapdash job, quick and not her best work, but it would pass off unless put under intense scrutiny. The door opened effortlessly, and she peered cautiously down the hall. Stepping out of her room, she set off down the corridor at a casual stroll, mimicking others she saw passing her by.

Hermione hoped she was in St. Mungo's. She'd read _St._ _Mungo, A Memoir _when she flirted with the idea of becoming a Healer before the need to find and destroy the Horcruxes took precedent to any kind of personal goals or ambitions she might have held. Anyways, the book read that when Mungo founded the hospital he placed anti-apparition wards reviling those of Hogwarts' in all the rooms and around the hospital so that irate patients wouldn't be able to leave without being fully treated. One of the only places where there were no anti-apparition wards were the main waiting rooms, other than that, there were specialized floo systems to get in and out of the hospital for those who could not apparate.

At present, Hermione had no idea where she was going. She'd only visited St. Mungo's once before to visit Mr. Weasley after he was bitten by the snake, and she had no idea what floor she was currently on. Unfortunately, there were no signs or helpful arrows pointing the way to the front doors like in Muggle hospitals. She couldn't exactly ask a Healer, any one of them could recognize her, and when _Jenny_ found out she'd 'escaped', no doubt they'd put out an all-call for her or something.

She passed by door after door, witnessing some of the strangest sites in her young life. Apparently she'd stumbled upon the Patients Who Suck At Transfiguration Ward because there were countless witches and wizards who were partially or even completely transfigured into some of the oddest animals and objects she'd ever seen. Sometimes a combination of both.

She couldn't help but pause as she passed by the waiting room; it was like slowing down to watch a car accident. One man's lower torso was transfigured into a wooden breakfast table complete with place settings and on his upper body he sprouted black and white feathered wings, like an eagle's. A Wizard, presumably a Healer, with red hair and a sparkling green cap set at a jaunty angle teased the younger man while he surveyed the problem.

It had to be the single worst transfiguration accidents she'd ever seen, and this was coming from a girl who'd privately tutored Neville Longbottom for years.

"Miss Granger! Thank Merlin we found you!" Healer Flint clasped her hand on shoulder, effectively scaring the living daylights out of her.

"_Stupe-_" she started, whirling around, wand extended before she caught herself.

Jenny appeared taken aback but quickly shook it off. "We need you to get back to your room, honey."

"Why?"

"Honey, you shouldn't be up yet."

"I'm perfectly fine. See? What I _need_ to do is get back to my friends,"

Jenny reached out to touch her but thought better of it when she took in Hermione's glare. Unfortunately for Hermione though, she didn't back down. "Honey, you _have_ to get back to your rooms. We aren't done with you yet. I'm sure your little friends can wait for one day."

"I'm a legal adult-"

"So you say," Jenny interrupted, the usual sickly sweetness in her voice was nowhere to be seen. "We have no way of identifying you or knowing for sure what you're saying is the truth."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Hermione asked angrily, unaware that they were starting to cause a scene.

"Of course not Hermione, honey," Healer Flint replied soothingly, condescendingly. "What you don't understand is-"

"No _Jenny_." Hermione cut her off. "What _you_ don't understand is that my friends are out there worried sick thinking that I've been kidnapped, possibly raped or murdered- most likely both, by the Darkest Wizard in a century while I sit here in this hospital _for no reason_!" she yelled desperately, absolutely furious.

Everything immediately went silent.

The Healer paled. "Do you mean…_you know_?" she asked meaningfully in a low voice, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Hermione stated simply. _Now we're getting somewhere. _

"But you're just a girl! What would give your friends reason to believe that… _He_ would want _you_?" she asked bewilderedly. _More than you know, but that's classified information. _

"There Horace, good as new," Hermione heard the red haired Healer say before he spun around. "Now, ladies, what seems to be the problem here?" Hermione could hear the smile evident in his voice and it irked her. Yet another patronizing adult; not what she needed right now.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Maybe once she made it she could regain some inkling of her sanity.

_One._

She needed to leave.

_Two._

It wasn't that hard of a concept to understand.

_Three._

Surely it was something a couple of supposedly intelligent healers could grasp. They only save people's lives every day.

_Four. _

"You couldn't have left any for me, you sly old fox?" a boisterous, decidedly male voice inquired jovially.

_Five._

"And leave you to take all the credit, not on your life," the healer replied good-naturedly.

_Six. _

He laughed. "You know me too well Albus! Still, it's not fair. You get to have all the fun!"

_Seven._

_Wait. Albus? As in Albus Dumbledore? _She opened her eyes.

_Eight._

Hermione fainted.

…

In all fairness, she never did get to ten.

* * *

**AN: **An update? From me? And it hasn't been a month? Wow. -pats self on the back- "Self, you are amazing." "Yes self, I know." 

As always, comments are greatly appreciated. -hint, hint, not so subtle hint- If things go as planned, I'll update soon. Maybe…


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